Tools for the garden
My husband reads all my posts, something I deeply appreciate. After the last couple, he noted that he could see I am “searching and gathering.” Searching, because right now I have more questions than answers, and gathering the things that I think will help me find them. As usual, he nailed it. Unlike the previous section of my life story, a more straightforward process, this is the part that is the “fumbling through darkness.” So I need all the help I can muster for it.
One particular Mother’s Day, my husband wrote a note about the “gardener I have been through life.” He observed that years ago, amid the chaos of my life in that house, I had started tending a vegetable and herb garden. I dug out the space, planted, and weeded to coax new life from the soil. And he said that, now, I am doing the same with my life.
I loved that comparison, and I agree. In writing this book, I’ve been l laboring to spawn a rebirth from the old soil of my past. A harvest of insights may emerge in their own time, but I must actively work that soil to reach them.
So, aside from right mind and attitude, what else do I need to do this? And why?
The words come last
It might seem odd that when talking about the tools to write a book, words, questions, story, and writing process are actually at the bottom of the list. Maybe that’s because before you get to the words – the communicating of answers and wisdom – there are so many “non-verbal” steps needed.
I came across a note in my 2019 journal, something I’d forgotten. It was an instruction to myself about how to write a memoir.
Don’t write from “wisdom” but from the pain. Words come last. It is the emotion that leads to the wisdom and healing, not the other way around.
The “voices” of trauma’s pain
Pain is the message that something needs to be dealt with, whether it’s a physical injury or an emotional trauma. In the latter, it often “speaks” through physical sensations and intense emotions.
Body reactions come up for no apparent reason. A physical sense of pressure in my chest so strong I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe. A choking sensation in my throat and the sense that I want to throw up.
Then there is chronic anxiety at certain times of the day or week. Sudden terror in quiet moments when there was nothing to be afraid of. And that huge rage reaction whenever someone pulls on my arm, or my shirt catches on a drawer knob, and it yanks me backward. There are no words in those moments, but OH, there is emotion.
It was like the nature of the abuse itself. It started in infancy. Pre-verbal. As I’ll write about later in a post on somatic trauma, I have no clear story narrative or even an image of those times. But there is SOMETHING alive in me at those moments, and it is deeply wounded. It is the body that remembers, then “speaks” through physical sensations and emotions.
When I look at a photo of the house we lived in when I was an infant, I don’t remember living there. But I feel intense fear and dread when I look at the image. .
My body reactions to certain smells, and the feel of certain clothing, or the vibes of certain music from my childhood will either soothe or upset me. For example, the taste of Slovak foods like pierogi puts me right back in my grandparents’ dining room in 1965, a wonderful moment.
There is a punch in the gut from a specific song lyric or quote. Or the smack upside my head from a scene in a movie or a passage from a book.
And there were the definitely remembered scenes of being assaulted and terrorized by my father. Every July 20th, the anniversary of the men landing on the moon in 1969, I am swamped with terror, a knotted stomach, and sorrow. That was one of the worst nights of my life because I had been avoiding Dad’s advances, and he was making me pay for it through his rage.
If those weren’t enough, there are the dark terrors of nightmares. That is a whole other world of pain – “the nocturnal visitors.” I will devote posts later to that subject. Suffice it to say right now that, strangely, or maybe not so strangely, those would “evolve” as I did more and more therapy work.
So, long before I decided to write, and even before, and certainly during and after the deeper therapy sessions, the memories of my many body voices within were screaming to be heard.
Therapy tools
In coming posts, as part of this journey through the darkness of “The Undiscovered Country,” I will write more about specific methods we used in therapy to “hear and heal those voices of pain.” For now, I will just mention the list of things that have been part of my process:
- The therapists I’ve worked with
- EMDR – Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing
- CBT – Cognitive Behavioral Therapy
- Movement/Somatic Therapy
- Yoga
- Tai Chi
- Tapping
- Meditation/Breathing Exercises
- Vocalizations
- Medications
Finding expression
Only with these therapy tools could I then start to add in other things for my healing process:
- Art – paintings, sketches, diagrams, maps
- Jotting random notes
- Journaling, including prompts to trigger memories, emotions, and thoughts
- Specific words to prod reactions in me
- Questions I wanted answers to, or to make me look closer
- Talismans or objects from my life that had power and specific meanings
- Photos from my life
- Books, movies, quotes
- Certain types of music and rhythms, as well as song lyrics
It was only after using the power of all of these tools that I could even consider writing something coherent.
And long after that, there were the terrifying questions of, “Do I DARE to write for others? Do I have the right to SPEAK this story out loud? And if I do, would I use a pen name….or mine?”
So the idea of writing a memoir at the beginning of this deeper therapy time was a VERY distant question.
What is coming
Over the next posts in this part of the book, I’ll elaborate on some of my experiences with EMDR and CBT. I’ll share a very strong reaction to one particular Yoga exercise we tried. I’ll talk about how, long before I could even scribble a note in a journal, I needed to “throw up” in paint on canvases – the only way I could release decades of trapped poison and finally find words. And then, I’ll finally get into the choice to write..the courage it takes, the “why” do it, and the “how” I decided to approach it.
After those entries, I will explore the things I started to learn – why things happened the way they did, how he controlled us, how I survived, the costs of what happened and still happens today, and the strong emotions those costs bring up in me. Ultimately, I will return to today’s “life, joys, and hopes.”
But for now, one last instruction before we “Enter the Underworld.”
Note:
I am seeking financial support to complete my memoir, work with an editor, and return home for fact-checking. Your help would mean the world to me as I take this step toward healing and giving voice to my journey.
Please like, comment, and share this post to help spread the word. The link for my fundraiser is on GoFundMe. Thank you for your support.
Soul Mosaic 
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